Aurelia feels herself bristle. Norway is the home of her ancestors, the place she associates with happiness and wild childhood abandon. It has already crossed her mind that she’s not cut out for this environment, and she hates that thought.

‘No,’ she snaps, rising to leave. ‘I’m staying here. Tom needs me …’

Maren nods. She can tell Aurelia is agitated, but isn’t sure why. She proceeds with caution. ‘Tell me, is there any particular place in the house that you can hear these voices?’

Aurelia sighs and flicks her long blonde hair over one shoulder. ‘The basement.’

‘I see. The reason I ask is because this house … it has an extremely old ventilation system, as you’ll know. I too have heard voices.’

Aurelia turns her head, stares Maren straight in the eye. ‘You have?’

Maren nods, gives a reassuring smile. ‘Yes. Also in the basement. And sometimes in the kitchen. The vents make a noise. Do you think it could have been that?’ She pauses, determined to keep her tone light, inoffensive. ‘Or something else?’

Aurelia draws a deep breath. Could it be that she’s just been hearing the moans of old vents? No, she thinks. No. She has heard the voice of a woman, not the moan of a vent. Certainly the house is noisy. But she has seen things, too. Ghosts, she thinks. A woman in the kitchen, standing with her face to the window. A woman without eyes.

But she doesn’t want to admit this. Not now. She feels like she’s losing her mind. Ghosts. Ha! She is losing her mind.

‘Yes,’ she says finally, not making eye contact. ‘It must have been the vents.’

‘You know, my sister had hair like yours,’ Maren says, reaching out to stroke it. ‘I used to plait it for her at night. It was to keep it from getting tangled, but the brushstrokes soothed her, helped her sleep.’ She looks at Aurelia with tenderness. ‘Would you like me to plait yours?’

Aurelia nods. She realizes how much she has missed her mother in the aftermath of giving birth. Not her mother, exactly, with her compulsion to turn every conversation into a tirade of complaints against Aurelia’s father, but a mother. In the moment of becoming a mother she craved to be mothered, to be handled with tenderness. Her body feels so bruised and battered. As does her mind.